


A Better Man

by Bait_And_Pitch



Series: Clarkson Universe [2]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bait_And_Pitch/pseuds/Bait_And_Pitch
Summary: Mike's in a mood and Eva tries to help, whether Mike wants it or not





	

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in my many musing about Pitch. I use elements from multiple episodes. I would love to hear your thoughts.

  
Something was wrong. Mike was too quiet. Not sulking. Not annoyed or angry. Just, quiet. It didn’t fit.

  
Ginny had just won her second game. The team was ecstatic for the win. They were starting to take to her. Ginny is a baller and she proved it, twice. She showed no signs of slowing down. She could take any trash talk that came her way and hurl it right back. She’s smart, determined, and a fierce athlete. She’s the real deal and well on her way to being one of the guys.

  
Mike may have misjudged Ginny but he was definitely team Baker now. He was proud of his rookie. Mike, as the Captain, congratulated Ginny and bought her a round of celebratory drinks. After that he kept to himself, nursing a beer, talking sparingly. His brow furrowed in consternation.

  
I watch Mike with one eye and the team around the table with the other, Ginny laughing easily in the center. Blip sits next to me, a fresh beer in hand and sighs.

  
“So one friend finally finds her stride and the other decides to fall apart. Can I have at least one day when everything is ok?”

  
I look at Blip in confusion. He tips his head in Mike’s direction, his comment becoming clear.

  
“Do you know what’s up with him?” I ask.

  
“Dang man. I thought you did.” Blip responds.

  
“No. Not this time. He’s been a little off for a few days.” I continue with a huff.

  
“Yea, I've noticed. Want me to take this one?” Blip asks gently.

  
“No. I got it.”

  
I rise from my seat to make my way to Mike. The motion catches his eye and he looks up, a hint of a smile emerging when he sees me advancing towards him. Mike scoots little to the right to make room for me and I slid in next to him. His arm around the back of the booth now lightly touches my shoulders. I crane my head toward his ear so he can hear me over the music.

  
“Captain.” I say in greeting with a smile and a clink of my cranberry vodka to his beer bottle.

  
"Ma’am." He supplies with a tilt of his head.

  
We both smile but there is a sadness in Mike's eyes.

  
"So," I continue, "is there a reason why you’re in the corner all by lonesome?"

  
"I’m observing." Mike answers simply.

  
"Uh, huh. You're missing the bald head and a fedora." I quip. Mike shrugs nonchalantly with a light chuckle, takes a swig of his beer, and looks over the team.

  
"Just making sure we all leave in one piece." Mike responds.

  
"How… captain-ly of you." I say playfully.

  
"I thought so too." Mike adds.

  
He wasn't making this easy. Usually when something is weighing on Mike, he conceals it with banter and jokes. Most won't see the warring in his eyes and that's how he wants it. But the undercurrent of his jokes or tone will betray him, to those trained to listen, illuminating a clue as to what's bothering him. I allow that for a time. Eventually his walls crumble, sometimes with a little nudge, and then Blip or I are there to help him work through it. Mike continues to remain silent, revealing nothing. His hand fidgets. He knows I'm worried. He keeps his face passive since he now has an audience.  
I place my hand on his knee to get his attention.

  
"Mike…" I begin. He turns towards me just as a squeal breaks through.

* * *

  
"Ahh, I love this song." Ginny says excitedly as she starts to sway in her chair. I didn't even realize the song had changed. Murder she wrote by Chaka Demus & Pliers booms through the speakers.

  
"Who's gonna dance with me?" asks Ginny.

  
She pointedly looks at Blip, who shakes his head no, but smiles and joins her none the less. Most of the team put their drinks down to dance and celebrate with their rookie. Ginny is just about to step onto the dance floor but hesitates.

  
"Hey Lawson, Eva, come dance." She loudly beckons with glee.

  
We both shake our heads ‘no’ and try to shoo her good-naturedly back to the dance floor. Ginny jogs the short distance to our booth instead.

  
"Aww, come on Cap." She whines.

  
"He doesn’t dance,"

  
"I don’t dance." We say in unison.

  
At least not in public we say to each other with a smirk.

  
"Fine. Kill joy." Ginny says with a huff and turns to me. "Eva, dance with me. I know those hips aren’t just for show."

  
Mike quirks a brow and takes a sip of his beer, silently agreeing with Ginny’s assessment. I start to decline but he slides my drink out my hand and nudges me with his shoulder.

  
"Go." He says.

  
"But..." I reply, my hesitation on full display.

  
"It’s ok. You love this song." Mike says knowingly with a warm smile. "Show these mooks your moves."

  
I look from Mike to Ginny back to Mike, weighing my options. Mike obviously doesn't want to talk. I decide to table our talk for the moment. An opportunity should arise later, even if I have to create it myself. I skootch out and join Ginny and the team on the dance floor, looking back at Mike momentarily.

  
Blip saunters over to me rhythmically.

  
“How worried should I be?” He asks as we swing our hips gently.

  
“Don’t know. I didn’t get very far.” I divulge.

  
Blip nods and pats my shoulder reassuringly. “Let me try.”

  
I follow with my eyes as Blip leaves the dance floor and sits across from Mike. With Blip on the case, my attention turns to the many dancers around me. I can feel my body getting warm from all the commotion.

  
Ginny is a free spirit kind of dancer. Bobbing and weaving in and out of her teammates orbit. Her moves may seem sporadic but she stays on beat, allowing the music to move her. She’s delightful to watch. In this moment, Ginny radiates joy and contentment. Her laugh is infectious.  
Being the only women in a sea of men, Ginny and I take turns dancing with each of them. Sonny is too smooth for words. He moves back and forth expertly to the music, his Puerto Rican heritage on full display. Omar definitely has rhythm but I think Ginny makes him nervous. Whenever she gets near him he stumbles but recovers quickly.

  
I see Blip talking to Mike through a haze of limbs. The song reaches it's chorus again and I finally let go.

  
"And rock di boat. And rock di boat." I yell in a Jamaican accent.

  
The guys laugh at me but follow my instructions to various degrees of competency. Stubbs executes perfectly and adds his own flair. Butch seems confused, probably one to many drinks, and continues to shake various appendages and Tommy groves in his own world.  
"Walk it out. Walk it out." I continue in my accent.

  
Ginny and I walk it out towards each other and then begin to wine, to the hoots and hollers of the guys. The guys now surround us. We laugh to each other and continue, changing between thunder claps and myspace, keeping pace with the music. All too soon the song is over and we start to move back toward our table and drinks, laughing merrily.

  
I look to the booth to find it empty. I see Blip coming from the direction of the bathroom.

  
"Hey. Where’d he go?" I inquire nervously.

  
"He said he was ready to go and left." Blip answers.

  
"Blip..." I whine in exasperation.

  
"What did you want me to do? I can't keep him here." Blip expounds.

  
"I know. I know. Did he at least say anything before he left?" I ask.  
"No. He barely said a word." Blip says with blatant concern.

  
I hurriedly grab my bag and place a few bills on the table.

  
"Listen I’m gonna try and find him before..."

  
"Yea I know." Blip says and hugs me.

  
We both know all too well.

  
"Say bye to Ginny and the guys for me?" I rush out before I hear his answer.

* * *

  
I walk briskly out the club, scanning for a leather clad brick wall. It takes all of 45 seconds before I find him at the bar, chatting with a familiar leggy blond. I waste no time making my presence known.

  
“Lawson, did your brittle bones need a rest between here and the car?” I ask with a teasing tone but with seriousness in my eyes only he can see.

  
Mike looks at me with confusion and a little annoyance. His mouth is slightly ajar having been interrupted in mid sentence.

  
"Hey Amelia. You didn’t want to join us?" I ask congenially.

  
"I would have loved to," She says, staring pointedly at Mike. Her face is the personification of thinly veiled desire. "But my work day doesn't end til at least 3 am most nights." She continues to look at Mike. Her meaning not lost on any of us.

  
"Got cha." I say in a slightly clipped tone. "Ready to go?" I propose to Mike.

  
Mike pauses but then shifts off his seat, leaning toward Amelia. "Have a good night." He breaths.

  
"Bye." I say cheerfully, walking towards the lobby that leads to the valet.

  
Amelia waves goodbye, not completely understanding how her extracurricular activities for the night evaporated so quickly.

  
We reach the curb and Mike gives the attendant his ticket stub. The valet reappears in record time with Mike's car and receives a handsome tip.  Mike grips the steering wheel tightly as we ease onto the expressway, headed toward Mike's house. I watch the San Diego scenery bend and flex out my window. I sit patiently and wait for the silence to take effect.

  
"I wasn’t gonna…" Mike starts.

  
"Shut up Lawson." I careen.

  
"But…"

  
"Nope. You told me if I see you about to do something stupid to stop you and that had stupid written all over it!" I say and gesture emphatically.

  
"I..."

  
"Sleeping with your Rookie’s agent isn’t stupid? Ruining your relationship with Ginny when it just started isn’t stupid? Screwing up your dynamic on the field isn’t stupid?" I ask rhetorically, raising my volume with each question.

  
"Oh right," I continue sarcastically, "Ginny wasn’t gonna find out. It was gonna be a secret. Got it. No one can hold a candle to you Lawson."

  
"She’s a big girl. She would’ve been fine." Mike says defensively.

  
"Ginny is amazing but she still has a lot to learn. A lot to learn from you, her Captain. Do you really want to take that chance?" I ask honestly.

  
Mike says nothing but sighs loudly.

  
"That’s what I thought." I say vindicated.  

  
"I’ve known her for 5 freakin days and she’s already messing with my sex life." Mike mopes.

  
"Oh whatever. You know you like her. She’s funny, snarky, and doesn’t take your crap. Her love of baseball rivals yours and she works her butt off. She’s the best rookie you’ve ever had." I recount confidently.

  
"Fine. I like her. Happy?" Mike says in exasperation of the whole conversation, not Ginny.

  
"Yup." I pop the 'p'.

  
We continue down the highway, both firmly in our own head-space.

  
"You ready to talk about what that was really about?" I ask firmly but with care.

  
"We both know what that was about." Mike jests, the innuendo clear.

  
"Ha. Cute." I deadpan. "Three days."

  
"What?"

  
"It’s been three days." I supply.

  
"No. No. It’s been…uh...Ev, I’m fine, really." Mike's voice pitches up an octave as he scrambles for words.

  
"You know the rules."  

  
"Yes I know the rules but it’s been..."

  
"Lawson," I say in a warning tone followed by a huff. "It’s been three days. You’ve had your time to figure out your… man emotions.  You and I both know you’re not fine, because if you were, Amelia never would have even been an option. And you know it. We’re talking tonight. We have 15 min to get to your house so you have 15 min to get your head on straight and warm up to the idea." I say with finality.

* * *

  
The 15 minutes pass without further discussion. We pull into the garage and make our way inside the house. Mike drops his keys on counter and peels off his jacket. I go to the fridge and take out two bottles of water. Mike accepts with a nod and appraises me as he leans against the counter.

  
"If I talk will I actually get a whole sentence in?" Mike asks with a quirked brow.

  
"Sure. If you don't BS me." I say mirroring his expression.

  
Mike takes a swig of water, picks up his jacket and moves toward the staircase.

  
"So I guess you're spending the night?" He asks as a formality, over his shoulder.

  
"Yup"

  
"You making breakfast?" Our banter returning.

  
"That’s the deal right? Bed for me, breakfast for you. Quid pro quo." I say in mock seriousness.

  
Mike snorts with a soft smile. "Yea."

  
We reach Mike's room and he heads to his closet to change.

  
"Hey. I take pity on you. You can have..." I look at my watch, " an extra 20 minutes."

  
"Shower?"

  
"Yea. Its been a long day." And it's not over yet.

  
I slip off my shoes and place them by the door. I go in the bathroom and pull out my favorite towel. It looks and feels more like a blanket than a towel. It can easily wrap around my body twice. It's fluffy like fleece but still absorbent. I named it Lola.

  
"Hey do you still have..."

  
"To the left of the caddy." Mike answers before I can finish.

  
"What about my..."

  
"Under the sink in the silver box"

  
I find my favorite oatmeal pear soap and head scarf exactly where Mike said they would be.  
I remove my clothes and place them neatly on the counter. The steam of the shower starts to billow and it calls to me. I welcome the hot steady spray. I stand with my head back and my shoulders limp. Thinking about who was gonna be in Mike's room and probably this shower makes my stomach tense and cramp.

  
Mike sleeping with Amelia would have been too much. I know Mike’s reputation. Most of California knows. Alcohol and women were his coping method after Rachel. He still hasn’t completely lost the habit. He’s doing better now. Less women. Definitely less booze. Besides Rachel, I’ve never known who he's slept with. I don’t need to put a face to his harem now.

  
I finish my shower and wrap myself in Lola. My clothes on the counter are gone and are replaced with a pair of soft patterned shorts and a tee shirt that says 'Dream Team'. Pictured on it is a cartoon book sitting in a steaming cup of tea reading a book. Mike bought it for me years ago when I went through a particularly bad bout of insomnia. I dress and come back into the bed room.

  
I slide onto the left side of the bed and absentmindedly begin to braid my hair into two French braids. I don't hurry him to speak. Mike faces the tv, a new episode of a show we like plays, but his eyes are focused beyond it. Waves of emotion bloom on his face and dissipate. He rubs his hand over his face and scratches his jaw where smooth cheek meets his barely tamed beard.

  
I remove a pillow from my back and put it in my lap.

  
"Hey", I say softly, reaching out to touch is forearm, "come here.” I motion to the pillow on my lap. Mike sighs and nods then sinks down and shuffles over to me. He lays his head in the middle of the pillow. His body curves close to mine, one arm around my waist and back, the other lays over my lap, ending at my hip. I begin to alternate between rubbing soothing circles on his back and gently combing his hair with my fingers. I visibly see his body relax with my ministrations.

  
We both focus on the show for a few minutes. Mike's arm tenses fractionally around me and he takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. I instinctively pick up the remote and turn the volume down.

  
"I saw my dad." He says, partly into the pillow. My hand halts for a moment in surprise, then continue.

  
"He was at the game?" I ask, praying my voice stays natural.

  
"No. A while ago I found out where he lived and a I drove by." Mike says wearily.

  
"What did he say when he saw you?"

  
"He didn't."

  
"What?" I say indignantly.

  
"Oh, sorry. I mean he didn't see me. I stayed in car. " Mike says.

  
“Oh”

  
He pats my hip in apology for my misunderstanding, my over-protectiveness showing.

  
Mike stays quiet as he gathers his thoughts.

  
"I kept playing it out in head, you know. Getting out, saying hi. Him saying he caught my game. Asking what's it like to have Ginny on the team. A regular conversation. Probably awkward but nothing big. I was about to get out, then...then his son and grandson came out. They started playing catch."

  
Mike's voice breaks on 'catch' and I lose it. I look at the ceiling and will the tears not to fall. Mike conceals a barely audible sniffle in his pillow but I know he doesn't want me to acknowledge it. He hugs me tighter and I do the same.

  
"I just kept watching them." Mike starts again, with a clearer voice. "Thinking about what it would be like if I went up. His son would be in awe of me." He says with lackluster bravado. "His grandson would ask me to sign his glove. And then they would have to ask why I was there. How he knew me. And in my head he's about to say something but then stops. He doesn't say anything and just looks at me. Then finally his son says ' You know your Grandpop coached Mr. Lawson on his team. He actually told him to be a catcher.' He would say it with such pride for his fath..."

  
Mike swallows a few times but forges on. "I would be right in front of him and it wouldn't even matter." Mike says with bitterness. "He would never say... It wouldn't be enough. It's never been enough." Mike finishes sorrowfully.

  
The underlying meaning of Mike's words tear at my heart. I swipe a few stray tears and begin to untangle my limbs from Mike. All the while calming my anger and hurt for his pain.

  
"Look at me." I say, as I tuck my knees under myself and take his face in my hands. He slowly glides his eyes up my face until he meets my eyes. I smile warmly and caress his cheek with my thumb. His tear brimmed eyes making my words all the more urgent.

  
"He," I stress, "wasn’t enough." Mike tries to turn his head away but I keep it in place. "Mike...look at me." He hesitantly complies. "He wasn't enough of man to claim you." I say with conviction.

  
"He could have made you a part of his family. Would it have been hard? Yes. Could it have broken his marriage? Most likely. But that's on him. You should have been the priority." I say fervently.

  
"There is nothing...nothing you could have done or said to change his mind and you shouldn’t have had to.  It was not your responsibility to make him choose you, to prove that you're worthy. You are his son. That's more than enough. End of discussion."

  
I take a breath to calm myself. It's been over 20 years and he's still struggling with this. The longer I look into Mike's eyes, the more I see that little boy that was denied what so many take for granted. Just the knowledge that you are wanted and valued makes all the difference.

  
"He was the adult. It was his responsibility to be a father." I say softly. "He’s a coward who took the easy way out. That shows what kind of man he is. It’s not a reflection of you. Ok?"

  
Mike stares at me for a few beats then nods weakly. We settle back down on the bed in our previous position. I resume stroking his head and I voice a thought before thinking.

  
"Dang, I kinda feel bad for him." I clamp my mouth shut before I can continue. Mike turns and looks at me with an unreadable expression.

  
"What?"

* * *

  
"Listen. Just hear me out." I plant quickly.

  
Mike rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand. I turn to face him and sit with my legs crossed.

  
“It just hit me how hard this must be for him. And it should be. Don’t get me wrong. But he has a future Hall of Famer for a son and can’t tell a soul. Like no one. It must be torture. Do you know how hard it is not to name drop sometimes. And it’s not to brag, sometimes you just get excited. But just think about it.”

  
I have Mike’s full attention. I try to steer the conversation in a less charged direction. I want Mike to see his accomplishments and that his father is paying for his sins too. His brow is starting to lose its ever present crease.

  
“You’re San Diego’s golden boy.” Mike cockily grins  at his nickname. “Shut up” I jest, “When you win a game everyone knows. Imagine your dad watching a game and everyone’s talking about how great you are and he can’t say anything. Or one of his little leaguers can’t wait to try out catching like Mike Lawson.” I do jazz hands when I say his name and he laughs.

  
“Seriously his life must suck. How many All-star games have you been in? How many Grand Slams? He has a son that made it to the show and kills it. There’s bobble heads and posters. Jerseys that sell for hundreds of dollars. Your ugly mug is everywhere.” I list off Mike's achievements with growing enthusiasm.

  
Mike smiles and shakes his head.

  
“But do you know what probably sucks the most?”

  
“No. What?” Mike says softly, his spirits lifting slightly.

  
“To know that he wasn’t needed. That you got here without him. High school ball, Triple A and finally the Majors. You didn’t need anything from him. You got the dream all by yourself. His lack of presence in your life was inconsequential to your success.  He missed out on all this.  He missed out on you. You didn’t lose a father. He lost the privilege to call you his son. He has to live with that guilt every day.”

  
“Do you really think he thinks about me?” Mike asks in a small voice.

  
“Yea. I do. Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying? Geez.” I say mellow dramatically.

  
“Case in point. Think about my dad. When we went to his movie premiere after party a few months back, by the end of the night the whole party could basically quote your entire career stats. He paraded you around the whole night. Forget about me, his daughter. " I say with artificial indignation. "He had Mike Lawson.”

  
“What! I’m a likeable guy.” Mike replies with mock offense.

  
“Your bromance scares me. It’s on another level !”

  
“Yea, your dad loves me.” Mike says self-satisfyingly.  

  
“It goes well beyond that. Like in the divorce, I think he’ll choose you over me.”

  
"He would never! You know you’re his favorite." Mike says.

  
"I’m not so sure anymore." I say skeptically with a small grin.

  
"You two could always share me." Mike says, proposing a solution.

  
"Shared custody? Like our puppy!" I say excitedly and bounce a little on the bed.

  
"Oh thanks, I’m a puppy now." Mike says unenthusiastically.

  
"Not just any puppy. Our Labradoodle." I say happily.  

  
"Labradoodle ?!?" Mike tuts incredulously.

  
"Yup. Our Labradoodle Lawson" I sing-song.

  
"How did we even get here?" Mike asks through ruckus giggles, rolling onto his back.

  
"I have no idea!" I say thickly through my own laughter. I bend and place my head and hand on Mike's chest as our laughter racks our bodies. Our sniggering cools and Mike's face takes on a serious expression.

  
"You know I’m not going anywhere, right?" Mike questions. He laces his hand with mine, as it hasn't left his chest.

  
"I know." I say sincerely.

  
We both look at each other openly. Our affection and trust in the other obvious. Mike speaks first before it gets awkward.

  
"What were we talking about before I became a dog of divorce?"

  
I chuckle.

  
“ What I was saying was my dad gets to ****publicly gush about you.  He comes to our games and cheers so loud its embarrassing. He had you sign two jerseys so he could hang one up in both his offices. I know I'm a Padre now so his Padre Pride is even more insane but its also about you. He’s proud of you and takes every opportunity to show it and you’re not even his son. Not by blood anyway."

  
Mike sports a watery smile at my last comment. He was adopted a long time ago. He just needed a reminder.  

  
"Your dad can't do that. The mistake he made, giving you up, is always right in front of him. There's no way he doesn’t think about you." I finish.

  
"Humph. I guess you’re right." Mike concedes.

  
"See what happens when you talk about things instead of acting out. You learn stuff." I say as if I'm congratulating a child.

  
"And one day," I start earnestly, "you'll have a sweet hockey loving kid that you'll teach everything you've learned to.  You’ll be the father he never was. You’ll be a better man then he’ll ever be."

  
I smile affectionately at him, meaning every word.  Mike sits up slowly and smiles briefly before kissing my forehead, his hand cupping the back of my neck. It's not the first time that he's done this but he does linger a little longer than usual.

  
"How did you know?" Mike asks, our foreheads touching.

  
"Know what?" I breathe, creating distance between us to search his face.  

  
"What to say."

  
"Honestly, I've been waiting for this conversation since you first told me about your dad."

  
"So you’ve been waiting for me to have an emotional break down, for years?" Mike says dubiously.

  
"Talking about your feelings is not an emotional break down. Dramatic much?" I snicker. "You don’t share the real stuff with a lot of people and that circle is  even smaller now. I wanted to be ready if this came up and you wanted to talk. I wanted to help if I could or at least try to."

  
"You mean force me to talk." Mike muffles.

  
"Oh, I’m so sorry." I say in mock offense, with my hand over my heart dramatically. "What was I thinking, trying to be a good friend. Listening to your issues.  I guess I’ll go home now."

  
I get off the bed and head toward the door. Mike says nothing and just watches the show, fully aware of my flair for the dramatic. When I reach the door, I turn around swiftly and point at Mike. "And next time when you're emotionally compromised, I won't be there to stop you from doing something stupid. Wait I know," I say getting an idea, "Want me to call Amelia for you?" I say mischievously.

  
I start to slink back towards the bed. "I’m sure she’s still up. It's not 3 am yet." I say breathily, lightly caressing his arm, very reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.

  
Mike laughs at my antics.

"OK ok. I get it." He says with his hands up in surrender. "Chill out woman. I get it."

  
"Uh huh." I smirk.

  
"Sit down. Dramatic much?" Mike chuckles.

  
"I learned from my best." I say with a pointed expression and plop down on the bed unceremoniously.

  
"Ha-ha" Mike says straight-faced.

  
We settle back in the bed, both facing the tv.

* * *

  
"Do you know what’s going on?" Mike asks.  

  
"Nope."

  
"Ready to sleep?" Mike inquires.

  
"Dear god yes." I say tiredly.

  
Mike reaches over me to retrieve the remote and turns off the tv. We both settle under the blankets on our perspective sides.

  
"Can you put on...?" I begin.

  
"I got it."

  
"It’s the rain storm not..."

  
"I know. I know. Not rain on the window or god forbid rain on leaves. How long have we been doing this? I think I better know your preferred sleep sounds by now." Mike says like the know it all he thinks he is.

  
The sound of rain eases my mind into a blank clarity, making way for a restful sleep.

  
"So I’m thinking" Mike interjects without preamble, "stuffed brioche French Toast...

  
"Old man, just sleep already!" I say in amused exasperation.

  
"with fresh mint infused whipped cream," Mike continues undeterred, "brie and chive egg cups or omelets, which ever you prefer of course, a pound of bacon, pork not that fake turkey crap you eat, fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee."

  
"Anything else me lord? I am here to please." I say innocently but laced with innuendo.

  
It's dark in the room but I can image Mike's eyes getting very wide, just like I want. He’s so easy to fluster.

  
"Maybe some fruit on the side." He adds says quickly.

  
I snort.

  
"Old man, you better be happy with avocado toast and coffee. If you don’t cuddle me to death maybe some eggs. Maybe." I say.

  
"I can do that myself." Mike cries.  

  
"Great! Can you make me a smoothie while you’re in the kitchen. Thanks sweets. You're the best." I roll on my side and pat his face.

  
"Wait what?" Mike says confused.

  
I giggle. Sometimes its too easy.

   
"Just go to sleep. You have an early workout and I have to head home to get clothes before work."

  
"Look in my closet." Mike suggests. "There should be something in there of yours"

  
"Thanks."

  
"I'm older than you. Shouldn't my life be less of a mess than yours?"

  
"Aww. It's so cute you think that." I say condescendingly. "You’ve seen me at my worst and held me together on more than one occasion. Today I'm returning the favor." I ruminate earnestly.

  
Mike rolls towards me and places his hand on the side of my face.

  
"Thank you" He says full of emotion.

  
"Hey, its what we do. Now sleep." I say seriously and kiss his nose quickly then bury myself back in the blankets.

   
"Did you say my kid would like hockey?"

  
This man will die tonight.

  
"Michael Andrew Lawson" I yell admonishingly.

  
"OK ok" Mike snickers.  

  
"Night old man"

  
"Good night Eva Marie Law… Clark”  



End file.
